Of Tea and Blackred Roses
by flowermasters
Summary: There is not a heaven for Erik Lehnsherr, but this is perilously close to one. -First Class oneshot, Erik/Charles.


**A/N: OMG FLUFF. Holy crap. I actually wrote some totally shameless fluff. Slightly inspired by an E.E Cummings poem, even though the poem has nothing that relates to Erik/Charles. (If anyone's interested, the poem is 'if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)have' by E.E Cummings.) Perhaps I just have so many ideas for Erik/Charles that anything will spark something. Haha.**

**Warnings: drunk!Charles, drunk!Erik, sexual tension, heavily implied sex, language, FLUFF, Charles and Erik being ridiculously cute and romantic. Set after they talk to Angel in the strip club. **

**Disclaimer: If I owned it, THIS would have been in the movie.**

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><p>"Christ, it's late."<p>

Erik checked his watch, brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of the numbers and hands. "It's only midnight."

"Exactly. Late."

"You're _twenty_-seven, Charles, not seven. Midnight is hardly _late_."

Charles chuckled as they exited the gentleman's club, leaving behind its ridiculous music and dancing girls. "You're quite mean when you're drunk, did anyone ever tell you that?"

"I'm not drunk."

"That's okay," Charles laughed. "Because I'm drunk enough for both of us."

Erik could not resist a chortle. "Then if I'm a mean drunk, you're a silly one."

Charles attempted to quit smiling and looked at Erik with blue eyes that were as wide and innocent as a child's. "Silly? Me? That's ludicrous."

Erik rolled his eyes. "I'd suggest getting a cab, but I'm not really sure I trust you in this state. You might start babbling about covert CIA operations."

Charles tapped his head. "If anyone heard me, I'd just erase their memory of it. It'd be quite simple. I want to walk anyways, it's such a nice night . . ."

Erik reflexively jerked as Charles abruptly stumbled forward, reaching out and grabbing him by the back of his jacket – but the other man seemed to have suddenly lost all ability to fight gravity, and his full weight dragged the unprepared Erik to the ground with him.

"Fuck," Charles exclaimed. "Bloody crack in the sidewalk. _Fuck_."

"Charles," Erik said, astonished. "Who would have guessed you had such a mouth on you." _Indeed_, he thought, having suddenly found his own face inches from Charles's as they knelt on the concrete. Charles's pretty pink lips were glistening in the dim light from the streetlamps, and his breath smelled lightly of liquor and something pleasant, like some sort of fruit.

Charles licked his lips then, almost as if he knew Erik was thinking about them – _oh_, _shit_. "Sorry," the younger man said, not _quite_ apologetically. "Are you alright, then? We should get up, there are people coming up the street behind us."

Erik stood up smoothly, helping the slightly-less-graceful Charles to his feet.

"Hey," Charles said, as he dusted off the knees of his pants. "I can be quite graceful . . . when I haven't been drinking. Plus, I am a man, so no one cares too much if I'm clumsy."

"You have a point," Erik agreed nonchalantly, looking at Charles out of the corner of his eye. _But I like the way he moves when he's sober. Very sure of himself, like he knows that every step he takes is going to be the right one._

Charles did not respond to that thought, as he was busy smiling politely at a rather loose looking woman they passed on the sidewalk. She called something out to him, and Charles rejected her smoothly and they kept going.

Erik watched him, seemingly unable to look away. Charles looked good tipsy – his cheeks were flushed pink, eyes bright, hair losing its elegant casualness and forming its own rakish style. Erik imagined that was similar to how Charles would look in bed, naked and sweaty, lips parted, eyes so heavy and blue –

Those eyes were now staring straight at Erik, filled with disbelief and something else, something between amusement and warm, twisting want. Erik looked away, finding it impossible to gaze into those eyes any longer – not when they were standing on a street in full view of anyone who should happen to look out a window or round the corner.

Their hotel loomed above them, and Erik still did not look at Charles as they hurried through the lobby and towards their room. Surely it was only the liquor, clouding his brain and making him forget that Charles knew _everything_, making him forget that Charles had always, always _known_.

Erik stared blandly at the door as he waited for Charles to open it, absently tweaking a crooked number with his power so that it was lined up with the others again.

"Erik," Charles said without warning.

Erik jumped just slightly, his gaze flicking to meet Charles's and then darting away again. "Oh," he said. "I have the key. Wait, we don't even need it. Right."

The lock clicked loudly, and Charles pushed open the door and took several steps in, running a hand through his hair as he did so. Erik followed him in, the door closing by itself behind them.

Charles suddenly whirled to look at him. "Erik —,"

"Don't start, Charles," Erik cut him off. "I'm sorry, I just – I –," He searched falteringly for the right words to say, feeling like a young, angry German man again, just barely learning to speak English.

Charles took a step forward, and for a moment Erik wondered in a panic if the telepath was going to punch him. But instead, Charles reached out both arms and put his hands on Erik's shoulders.

"Never," Charles said, his voice soft. "I would never hit you, Erik."

Erik stared at him. _Give me a few more chances to mess up, you'll change your mind._

_Never_, Charles repeated in Erik's head, and then he was kissing Erik, his mouth pressed fervently against the metal-shaper's, their teeth clacking sharply. Erik kissed him back for lack of anything else to possibly do, for he knew that to try and resist Charles would be like trying to resist magnetism – not because Charles would force him into anything, ever, but because Erik was already helplessly, hopelessly under the sway of this mind-reader.

Charles tried to press Erik up to the wall at the same time Erik pushed him towards the beds, and their feet tangled, a still gravity-challenged Charles jerking backwards against Erik's superior strength. But Erik caught him, iron-strong arms locking around the shorter mutant's back.

Charles broke the kiss with a smack, staring up at Erik, wide-eyed.

"I've got you," Erik told him. "I've got you." _You are not alone. I have you._

"Yes," Charles breathed, kissing Erik again, gripping Erik's hair with one hand and squeezing his upper arm with the other. _You have me. _

That night, for the first time in hundreds (no, thousands) of nights, Erik did not dream. There were no nightmares of being cut open, no swirling fever dreams of metal stained with Sebastian Shaw's blood. There weren't even any sad, wistful memories of Mama or Hanukkah or happiness. There was only deep, restful sleep; and it was wonderful.

He woke slowly and easily, inhaling with relish and shifting slightly. For a moment he expected to wake up a carefree child again, to no longer be a scarred, broken man and to be without any vendettas of any kind. But no, he was still himself – his days of innocent childhood mornings were long gone. But it was nice, he thought sleepily, to enjoy this. For now.

He opened his eyes after a few minutes of just blurrily existing, and squinted against the sunlight streaming in through the half-open hotel curtains. Charles was beside him, bare and swaddled loosely in the sheets, his face pressed into his pillow. For half a second, Erik was absolutely terrified that the other man had suffocated in his sleep, and then he noticed the soft rise and fall of Charles's back and he relaxed.

They weren't spooning or anything ridiculous like that – rather, Charles was lying on his stomach with Erik curled beside him, Erik's hand resting very lightly on the small of his back. He knew he should move his hand – it was a frighteningly gentle, romantic way to touch someone – but he didn't.

Instead, he scooted over slightly, careful not to jar the sleeping telepath. He pressed his lips very, very softly to the back of Charles's neck, applying just the gentlest pressure. He made his way downwards in that fashion, kissing the slight ridge of Charles's spine, stopping where his hand rested.

Beneath him, Charles stirred and mumbled something about good, hot tea. Erik chuckled quietly against the small of the other mutant's back, before lifting his head and scooting up so that he could see Charles's face as he woke up.

Charles turned his face away from the pillow and wrinkled his nose, then opened his eyes. "Erik."

"Sorry I woke you," Erik said, not at all sorry. "Good dream?"

"Yes," Charles replied, voice thick with sleep.

"Was it something about tea?"

Charles rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Was I projecting? Sorry."

"No, you said something about it. Are you really so English that you dream of having a cup of tea?"

Charles poked him, feigning offense. "Of course not, old chap. I just fancied a little spot of tea!"

"You're still silly, even when you're hung-over. Interesting."

Charles rolled his eyes and turned over so that he was lying on his back, kicking the sheets off of both of them. Erik could not resist the opportunity to slide his gaze lower, and Charles laughed. "And you're still a mean pervert."

After a moment, Charles's expression sobered slightly. "I always dream of tea when I'm happy. It's a very soothing drink, and so I dream of it when I am at peace."

Erik rested his hand on Charles's chest, stroking the smooth skin and the light fuzz of hair. "And what do you dream of after a good shag?"

Charles laughed again, his eyes glinting with amusement and an undercurrent of affection that wouldn't seem to go away (not that Erik really wanted it to). "Nothing. I'm usually quite exhausted."

"So it wasn't good, then?"

Charles arched an eyebrow. "You tell me," he said, and proceeded to project _several_ images and thoughts into Erik's head. _Good enough for you?_

Erik shuddered and leaned forward to kiss Charles. _Better than good._

"Mm-hmm," Charles mumbled against his mouth, lifting a hand to grip Erik's bicep loosely. "Mm?"

_It's hard to understand you when my tongue is in your mouth._

_Then quit trying to reach my tonsils and get it out._

_As you wish_, Erik said, breaking the kiss with a noise that was somehow both sloppy and sweet at the same time. Charles looked at him with just a hint of a pout in his deep blue eyes.

_I was joking._

_You were? Sorry._

Erik ran his fingers lightly over Charles's chest, absently following their path with his eyes. _Your skin is so pale._

_I can't exactly help it. I don't tan, I burn._

_It's bloody gorgeous_, Erik told him without even thinking about it. He traced his fingers up to Charles's creamy neck, smiling slightly when the younger mutant tipped his head back to allow him better access. He skimmed his fingers lightly over a deep purple love-bite, smirking with a sort of possessive pride.

Charles's expression turned horrified. _Erik. How the devil am I going to hide that?_

_Let everyone see_, Erik responded uncaringly. A memory filled his mind – Charles underneath him, head thrown back, gasping as Erik dug his teeth in roughly –

_Quit that_, Charles told him reproachfully, his cheeks flushing pink. _I suppose I'll have to wear a collared shirt until it fades._

_You could borrow a turtleneck._

_Turtlenecks make me look even shorter than I actually am. Only someone long and lean can pull them off._

_Someone like me?_

_Yes._

_Well, don't worry. You can always pull off my turtlenecks._

Charles let out a laugh that was loud and free and utterly beautiful. _Really? I'll keep that in mind._

_I bet you will_, Erik thought, crawling on top of Charles. Charles wrapped his legs around Erik's narrow hips and reached up to run a hand through the metal-bender's mussed hair, grinning all the while.

Erik could not help the swirling feeling that started at the base of his spine and traveled upwards; Charles looked so perfect like this – naked, happy, and wrapped tightly around Erik. A sensation that was just a shade shy of _I love you _pounded in his heart and thrummed against his lips, begging to be expressed. What came out instead was _I have you_, and it was the right thing to say.

_I have you. _

Charles leaned his head back even further, his neck just begging to be kissed. "You have me." His voice was soft and husky, a lover's whisper, and his smile was genuine and pleased, a best friend's grin.

Erik touched the bruise on Charles's neck very lightly with one fingertip, marveling. _A rose petal against lilies_.

_How romantic_, Charles responded quietly, meaningfully. _Kiss me?_

Erik did as he asked and kissed the love-bite, first gently and then harder, smiling at the way Charles shifted and purred underneath him. And then he kissed Charles's lips, his thoughts turning to perfection – it was terrifyingly sentimental, and he cared far too much already, and there was no such thing as Heaven or everlasting wonder – but Erik knew that if there _was_ such a thing as the afterlife, it was filled with creamy skin that tasted faintly of chamomile tea and kisses that left behind dark, gorgeous roses.

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><p><strong>AN: Omg, I'm embarrassed. Seriously, that was fluffy. Thanks for reading, please share your thoughts in a review. :)**


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